Free Unafraid by Francine Rivers Page A

eyes filled with compassion. “It’s not ease I need, Mother. It’s renewed strength. And it will come when I most need it.”
    She was about to press him further when Joseph entered the house, his shoulders stooped, his eyes downcast. Mary’s heart sank. “Tobias didn’t pay you for the chair you delivered?”
    “He said he had unexpected expenses. He’ll pay by the full moon.”
    Her skin went hot. It wasn’t right that Joseph worked so hard and then was left to wait for his wages. Tobias could afford to pay his debt. He sat in the gate with the elders! Unexpected expenses! She’d heard only yesterday that he had bought a mule for his youngest son. She rose, her hands balled into fists. “I’ll go talk with him.”
    Joseph looked up. “You will not.”
    “It’s not right that he takes advantage of you! If you won’t allow me to go, then let Jesus go down and speak to the man.”
    “Mary,” Joseph said with a pained expression, “Tobias will pay in his own time. He always does.”
    “And while we’re waiting upon his time, how do we buy bread for our table?”
    “There’s plenty of work in Sepphoris.”
    “It’s not right, Joseph,” she said, tears springing into her eyes. “You work so hard.”
    “It’s not Tobias who provides our livelihood, Mary. God always provides.”
    Joseph and Jesus left for Sepphoris the next morning. Late that afternoon, Anne became ill.

          
    Two days passed, and the fever raged, unabated by cool damp cloths that grew hot from the child’s burning forehead. Anne cried incessantly while Mary paced with her in her arms. For once the boys were quiet. They loved their little sister and sensed Mary’s fear. By the third day, Anne was unconscious.
    When Joseph and Jesus returned from Sepphoris, Mary rose in a flood of tears and flung herself into Joseph’s arms, for their youngest was dying.
    Jesus laid his carpentry tools down and walked across the room. Joseph’s hands tightened at Mary’s waist and she turned.
    Jesus stood over his sister for a long moment. Then he knelt down beside her pallet. “Anne,” he said softly and brushed his fingertips across his little sister’s forehead. She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes.
    Mary gripped Joseph’s hand.
    “Jesus,” Anne said, smiling, her face filling with healthy color. “You’re home.” Mary’s little daughter reached up to him. Jesus scooped her into his arms and straightened. Anne wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and rested her head against his shoulder. Jesus nestled his head into the curve of his sister’s neck and closed his eyes.
    Heart pounding, her skin prickling, Mary sat down heavily on the stool by the door. Joseph’s fingers trembled as he gripped her shoulder. She started to laugh and covered her face, tears streaking her cheeks.
    “Anne’s well, Mama.” James rose. “Can we go play now?” He rushed to Jesus, who shifted Anne enough so he could put an arm around his younger brother.
    “Yes, she’s well, James. Go on outside and play.”
    Young Joseph raced after him.
    And Mary realized, though James and Joseph had seen, they hadn’t understood.

          
    Josiah, one of Jesus’ friends, came into the woodshop with a message from the rabbi. “He wants you to come now. It’s about Jesus.”
    “What about Jesus?” Joseph said, setting aside his adze and dusting the wood chips off the front of his tunic as he followed Josiah outside.
    “The rabbi is angry with him again.”
    “I didn’t know he’d been angry before.” Joseph could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “What happened, Josiah?”
    “I don’t really know,” the boy said, shaking his head. “All Jesus did was ask him a question, but the rabbi’s face got all red and he started shaking. Then he told me to come and get you.”
    They hastened along the street into the center of town to the synagogue. When Joseph entered, he felt the air